


Dragonfly Wings

by SphinxTheRiddle



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Family History, Gen, Hawke Family Feels, How Alyn Discovered Her Magic, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Angst, tfw Reddit Prompts Get Me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 08:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13736919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SphinxTheRiddle/pseuds/SphinxTheRiddle
Summary: Leandra Hawke watches the sight from across the fields and remembers the last words her father said to her: "Grief is the price we pay for love."





	Dragonfly Wings

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Characters and other recognizable things in this story belong to their respective copyright holders. The only things that I own are the original characters and plot of this story. I am making no money from writing this fan work. No copyright infringement is intended.

Leandra could see it from the window. She could feel the recognition in her belly, felt the baby kick as if in protest. Her hands gripped the sill until the knuckles popped and she could feel the blood throbbing in her palms. Like a heartbeat. Like a wound.

There stood her Malcolm, his back to her as he stared far across the fields. She could picture those warm, honeyed eyes she fell in love with, and imagined them running molten with the sort of intensity only her husband was capable of. She imagined the precise quirk of his mouth, the way the left corner would pull down as he examined the world around him with that sardonic humor she’d fallen for; his brows would lift oh-so slightly, as if to judge the moment before him, as if to ask if this was really what the Maker planned. As if to dare the Maker to try.

That slow-burning rebellion had been a double-edged sword from the moment Leandra had met him. It lent a force to the intellect which had first attracted her, a passion to the love they felt for one another. It burned so brightly, she felt she could forever find her way in the dark if he stood by her side.

It burned so brightly, she could hardly be blamed for falling blind to what kindled that blaze. She could be forgiven for forgetting the pyres that had built the man she loved. She could stake everything on that soul-livening warmth.

Until it burned, of course.

It was not until the baby kicked her again that Leandra remembered to breathe. Her breath came in a quick, sharp intake as her eyes burned a hole in the back of her husband’s head; her gaze wavered as he stood there, for she feared to follow the line of his sight. She did not need to look to know what he saw. It was in the way he leaned against the hoe, one hand gripping the shaft in the ready way she’d seen him grip his staff, the other hand gripping it as if he would steady himself against some sudden force. She knew that stance, had seen it the last time their family had been chased from a town when Malcolm the Hunter proved too adept, too unearthly skilled in killing. Had shown too much of Malcolm the Mercenary, which was too closely related to Malcolm the Mage.

They had sheltered in a cave for three days as the villagers who had once been their friends poured through the wilds, searching them out with torch and axe and fear. Cradling her firstborn to her breast, Leandra had watched her husband’s despair manifest, had watched him sag against his staff as he waited out the nights, agonized by the prospect of killing people he had loved, yet determined to keep his family alive.

She had taken his hand, the prayers of her childhood pouring from her mouth in, to her surprise, her mother’s voice: _The deep dark before dawn's first light seems eternal_ , she had whispered to him.

Malcolm had cupped her face that night with such defeat. But still he had kissed her, cradling their child’s head with his other hand and piercing her with those molten eyes of his. _But know_ , he had replied, _that the sun always rises_.

She heard the timbre of his voice in her mind, as clear as it had been that night. Heard the choir of the Chant from her childhood as they raised their voices in reverie. Heard the joy, heard the song, saw the candles shining like stars.

Heard the laughter of her firstborn’s delight across the fields of their home, the home that had kept them safe for the last five years.

Saw the ethereal wisps of dragonflies pirouetting around her little girl’s head as her father watched on, their magicked forms encircling her brow like a diadem. Like a noose.

Malcolm Hawke squared his shoulders.

Leandra wept.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a dash of Hawke Family History for my canon-Champion, Alyn. 
> 
> I happened to check out the DA Reddit Prompt doc and fell face-first into inspiration. Prompt I chose is from [Dec. 23, 2016:](https://www.reddit.com/r/dragonage/comments/5jxjum/spoilers_alltime_to_be_storytellers_the_dragon/)  
> "The first time they tried to wield their weapon (or for mages, the first time they used their magic)."
> 
> Title is also inspired by a line from [Black Magic Sanction](https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/244716-go-to-sleep-baby-mama-will-sing-of-blue-butterflies)


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